


Verb

by Fandom_Trash224



Series: Harrna Shuchi and the 473rd [1]
Category: Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Bittersweet Ending, Gen, Origin Story, Reconditioning, other characters mentioned but not listed, surprised that's not a tag - Freeform, you'll find out why soon enough
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-19
Updated: 2019-04-19
Packaged: 2020-01-16 16:41:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,743
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18525496
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fandom_Trash224/pseuds/Fandom_Trash224
Summary: Harrna Shuchi was a Jedi Master, and it was the beginning of the Clone Wars. She was given a squad, and later, command of the 473rd Battle Battalion, but the time in-between is a story not often told, and not well known.Well, until now.





	Verb

The first thing she decides to tell them is that she has no idea what she’s doing.

This was met with blank helmets glancing at each other, and she could practically feel their surprise and worry and “duh” without the Force. She wasn’t too surprised, she hadn’t even given them her name yet, and she was already telling them she was incompetent as a general. This wasn’t…  _ entirely  _ true, of course. She could strategize, fight, be in charge (her body is a weapon, her mind is sanctuary, and she has battle in her blood), but that’s when it came to  _ Jedi _ . 

These men were not Jedi.

“I’m Jedi Master Harrna Shuchi, and I suppose I’m meant to be in charge, despite that fact.” She said, bowing slightly in respect. The wave of surprise at what she thought was a basic courtesy both worried her and angered her, but she released it out, not willing to dwell on it in front of her men.

Speaking of, one of the men, who stood in the middle just in front of her, who wore a pauldron, stepped forward slightly, and in a clipped, authoritative voice, spoke to her.

“CC-1890. I’m your Commander, sir.”

Oh  _ Force _ , did they really introduce themselves with  _ numbers _ ? Her stomach sloshed uneasily, the small patch of skin on her right arm itching where  _ That _ old scarring was. Instead of releasing that into the Force, she shoved it into a box in the back of her mind. She would need to meditate on it later.

“Good to meet you 1890,” she said, trying (and more than likely failing) to sound as even-spoken as possible, and, before she could stop herself, gingerly added “Is there anything else you would like me to refer to you as?”

More surprise, more thoughts to meditate on later.

“... No,” he replied, and his voice was hard, almost defiant, and Harrna fought the urge raise her eyebrows in surprise “Some of the other men might, but most of us haven’t gotten names yet, sir.”

Harrna nodded, and looked over her men.  _ Really  _ looked them over. It was a rather small group she had, less of a company, more of a squad (it was a test, she realized, of her willingness to do her duty after what happened with the Temple Guard).

They all wore matching armor (save for 1890, who wore the obvious pieces that only commanders wore). It was all white, blank slates just  _ begging  _ for color and customization. The men themselves were harder to read. As they introduced themselves, though, she got impressions of who they may be. 

The one who introduced himself as CT-2968 had a sense of childlike wonder about him, like he was excited to see the stars and the worlds around them, and Harrna barely hid her smile. The two next to him, who introduced themselves as Lift and Lower, were obviously close. Lift, much bolder than Lower, declared that they preferred to be referred to as gender-neutral, and that Lower was a woman, no matter what the Kaminoans said. Harrna nodded, and made sure to remind herself of these facts whenever she could. 

To the left of 1890 was one who introduced himself as Burner, “because I like flamethrowers and heavy ordinance”, and the one after him called himself 1780, and that he was good with machines. The last one was a medic, a proud man who the others called Angel, because he was like a guardian angel on the battlefield.

Seven soldiers stood before her, and the Council had said they were  _ hers _ , which didn’t sit well. She had expressed as such, suggesting a different way of saying it. 

_ “We’re at war, Master Shuchi. This is what it is, no need to dance around it.” _

She wanted to remark how they danced around  _ exactly _ what it was, but she bit her tongue, and disconnected from the call.

Now, there they were. She dismissed all of them, save for 1890, telling them to relax before they had to go out into active duty as best they could, before turning to the commander.

She could feel his distaste for her full force now, and she couldn’t blame him.

“1890, before we begin our duty together,” she began, inwardly cringing at how authoritative she sounded “I want to ask a favor of you, if that’s alright?”

“Of course, sir. I’m at your command.” He said, but his words were clipped, almost sarcastic. She still couldn’t blame him, but that didn’t stop a rather distressed look from crossing her face for a moment. She opened her mouth to speak, but, after only a moment’s thought, she sighed, and brought the hood of her dark red hood down.

“Before I ask you this, may I ask you to take off your helmet?” She asked, pleased at how she managed to soften her voice slightly. 1890 crossed his arms.

“Can I ask why, sir? I mean, you’ve undoubtedly seen a clone before now, no point in wanting to know what I look like, really. We all look the same.”

“I prefer to speak to people face-to-face, 1890,” Harrna placed a hand on her hip, seeing the trap with ease “Clone or not.”

Harrna did  _ not _ feel a slight swell of self-pride when the spike of surprise rippled through the Force, and she most definitely did  _ not _ nearly crack a smile at it. Even if she did, she was rather good at hiding it. Either way, 1890 did as he was asked, removing the blank helmet to reveal the face below.

He was right. He looked like any other clone, at least face-structure-wise, but Harrna knew better than to judge by that alone. His hair was a standard cut, but the sides were shaved down, designs of what Harrna could only guess were waves carved into the short hair. From the bottom of his eyes to the bottoms of his cheeks, there were two lines of characters: one in aurebesh, one in what Harrna assumed was mando’a. She couldn’t understand the latter, but the former was easy: it was numbers. 1890.

“You tattooed your number onto your face?” Harrna asked, unable to stop the confused question from sprouting forth. He squinted his eyes at her, wariness filling the space between them.

“... Yes. I did. It’s so I don’t forget who I am to the Republic.”

“A number…” Harrna muttered, her tone more bitter than was becoming for a Jedi. Another wave of surprise, and Harrna collected herself “What does the other one mean? The one in mando’a?”

“It’s who I am to my  _ vode _ .” He answered with equal bitterness, and, when she realized he would not supply a translation, continued on.

“Well, regardless, this isn’t really a favor, I suppose. More of a proposition to I have to offer, one that  _ may _ be a bit…  _ Out of line _ for a general.”

“Oh?” He asked, and it sounded sarcastic again, and this time, Harrna felt a pang of bitterness at his tone. It wasn’t her fault they were under her command.

“Yes,” she said, her voice hardening for a second before she huffed and continued in a low, quiet voice “I wasn’t joking when I said I don’t know what I’m doing. I haven’t been trained for this, not properly, but it is to my understanding  _ you _ have, correct?”

1890 nodded, arching an eyebrow up. 

“Perfect. See, as a clone, despite your rank, nobody will listen to you,” She held up a hand as he opened his mouth to speak, talking over him quickly “And I  _ know _ it’s banthashit. Believe me, I agree. As a Jedi, I am expected to lead, and I want to, but I don’t know  _ how _ , and I am not willing to recklessly kill you and your… Your…”

“ _ Vode _ .” 1890 supplied, not even sounding that annoyed this time. More…  _ intrigued _ . Intrigued is good. It meant he may not outright refuse the request.

“I am not willing to recklessly throw away the lives of your  _ vode _ . So, here is proposition to you, commander: Teach me how to lead, how to strategize these large-scale battles and small squad missions of non-Jedi. In return,  _ you _ can choose the mission strategies and plans. I’ll offer input, of course, but I am here to learn. I’ll do my best to keep out of your business.”

“What happens if a plan fails?” 1890 asked, wary, but still intrigued as far as Harrna could tell “I get all the blame? And what about the other generals, and the nat-born officers? Don’t think they’ll take to kindly to me giving the orders.”

“I’ll take full responsibility for your plans, failure or success. That way, neither of us get in trouble for overstepping or not doing our job, and if the plans fail, well… I’ll get a tongue-lashing, but that’s about it, and it’s tame compared to what they’d do to you, more than likely.”

1890’s arms were still crossed, but his posture shifted, less defensive and more thoughtful. After a few moments, with dark eyes flickering over Harrna’s face analytically, he uncrossed them.

“The idea’s good, sir. It may just work,” He said, a slight smirk on his face “I’m in.”

Harrna didn’t suppress the smile that broke out across her face, and she bowed slightly as a sign of respect. 1890 saluted her in turn. 

“I look forward to our partnership, 1890,” She said, then, cheekily “Perhaps I’ll learn what your  _ vode  _ call you, one of these days. In the meantime, I’m more than happy to explain my own tattoos.”

1890 barked a laugh, and put his helmet back on, once more obscuring his face from Harrna’s view. 

“Don’t get your hopes up, sir.” He said as he turned away, and Harrna could hear the smile in his voice.

~<>~

“You know what, 1890? I think I found a good name for me to call you.”

The statement obviously startled the commander, who nearly dropped the paintbrush he had been using to paint his pauldron a deep red. The color of Harrna’s own robes, a color that had flooded the squad she had been placed in charge of rather quickly after she had received a rather intense scolding from one of the older masters about how “unbecoming” it was for a Jedi to not wear the “proper colors” of the Order. Whether they had done it out of solidarity or teasing, she didn’t know, but it was still something Harrna pretended to not feel pride in.

“And what name is that, sir?” 1890 asked, setting the still-wet helmet and brush down on the table before him before turning to face her. She smirked.

It was only a month into their partnership, their arrangement, but Harrna had begun to get along rather well with 1890, and he seemed to have similar feelings, seeing as the stabs of wariness and dislike were becoming less and less often. They had gotten comfortable with each other, and while he still called her sir, he also called her by her first name. 

All of this was why she was confident enough to say what she said.

“Rudey.”

1890 stared at her, eyebrows arched and mouth agape, before he scoffed a laugh.

“You’re kidding.” He said, now fully turning his seat to face her.

“Nope,” she said, barely managing to stifle her laughter “Rudey, because you like to be rude to people.”

“I do  _ not _ ,” He squawked, indignant but still smiling.

“You  _ do _ ! Just the other day, you were rude to the captain that we met on that moon! Every time you meet someone, you’re rude to them.”

“Oh, come  _ on _ , not  _ everyone _ .”

“Okay, maybe not  _ everyone _ , but I don’t have anything else to call you! Even the others have names picked out!”

It was true, 2968 and 1780 had been given the names Wonder and Tin (respectively), but the only squad-member who hadn’t gained a name was the commander. According to the other clones, however, he  _ did  _ have a name, but they had all promised never to use it around Jedi. Harrna had been alright with that, or at least she thought she was, but calling her commander 1890 over and over made her skin crawl, and her arm itch.

“Literally  _ anything  _ is better than Rudey, Harrna.  _ Anything _ .”

“So I could call you ‘stubborn idiot’ and it would fly?” 

He gave her a look that, while it held malice, it was light, a sort of “don’t push your luck, but that’s still pretty funny” sort of thing. She held her hands up defensively, an apology already dripping from her mouth. His own face shifted, suddenly looking remorseful, and soon, he was apologizing, too. 

They sat in silence for a second, before 1890 sighed. Harrna turned to leave, knowing her cue well, when he spoke up.

“It’s  _ verburyc _ .”

“Excuse me?” Harrna said, her excitement barely contained in her voice as she whipped around.

“My tattoo. It translates to  _ verburyc _ . My  _ vode  _ call me Verb for short. It means ‘loyal’.”

“Verb,” She said softly, feeling it rub off her tongue “Commander Verb… Well, it’s good to meet you, Verb. I look forward to our partnership.”

Verb let out a laugh, and turned around to return to his paint and pauldron.

“As do I, sir. As do I.”

~<>~

She’d been banned from playing sabbac during their down time. 

The clones tell her it isn’t fair, because she’s a Jedi and could probably use some Force magic stuff to shift the odds in her favor, or to cheat and know what the next shift was. She didn’t argue (much), considering she was rather notable among her old creche-mates for cheating at card games whenever they had snuck out, or even gone out with permission. She idly wondered if one of them had told their troops, who passed it onto hers, but regardless, she found it nice to simply watch the seven clones play sabacc.

At least, she  _ did _ , until she realized that  _ she  _ was not the only one in the room who had cheated at cards before. 

Burner seemed to have a gift for drawing  _ exactly _ the right card at  _ exactly _ the right shift, but Harrna could always tell when he switched the card in his hand for the one hidden in his armor. Tin always seemed to know when the others were bluffing or had winning hands, which took Harrna a bit longer to figure out until she saw the reflections of everybody’s cards in the glasses they were drinking from. And Verb? Well…

Verb was one of the dirtiest sabacc players she had ever seen.

He was constantly shifting cards in and out, movements barely picked up if one was not looking for them. He managed to pick two cards from the deck at a time without anyone noticing, tucking one into his sleeve without a second thought, smiling slyly throughout the whole game as if he knew he was going to win. He, like all good cheaters, made it a habit to not win  _ too _ many times in a row, having to keep up the “good luck” façade lest he be called out on it.

But he was very,  _ very _ good. Harrna had half a mind to congratulate him and tell him how impressed she was, but she kept that to herself. It always was rather embarrassing to get caught cheating, even if it wasn’t by the people you were playing with. 

Instead, she offered him a knowing smile, and he shot one back at her. 

(It was the first time the feeling without a name bloomed in his chest, and it would not be the last.)

~<>~

Two out of seven. That was all that was left of Harrna’s squad.

They had been sent out for what was meant to be a relief mission on neutral planet when the Separatists trying to win the planet ambushed them. Wonder had fallen first, barely able to call out that they were being attacked before his throat was shot out, and he fell limp the ground. Lift and Lower fought side-by-side, back-to-back, all the way up until Lift was overwhelmed by super battle droids, leaving Lower defenseless. Their bodies laid on top of each other after they fell. Tin had been operating a gunship filled with supplies, accompanied by Angel, and, from what Harrna could tell, was shot down out of the sky. There was no way they could have survived that.

It was just her, Burner, and Verb left, with Harrna’s head buried in her hands as Burner laid down, still being tended to by one of the locals that had helped them fend off the attack. The acrid smell of charred flesh still filled the air around them, and Harrna couldn’t even  _ dream _ of looking over at the burnt man. It made her itch all over, uncomfortable and sympathetic.

_ But not empathetic, as a Jedi should be _ .

Her shoulders shook as a lump formed in her throat, desperately trying to choke back a sob.  _ This _ was why she hadn’t wanted to be put in charge of these men. It ate her up inside like nothing else had before, the old, gnawing feeling  of guilt she knew too well returning in full force. She was extremely glad that there were no Jedi nearby, because her mental shields would not be enough to block the flood of emotions coursing through her. There was no peace in her, nothing she could grasp onto, only  _ grief  _ and  _ guilt  _ and—

And a hand being lightly placed on one of her shaking shoulders.

She drew in a quick breath, whirling around quickly to see the face of ( _ WonderLiftLowerTinAngelBurner _ ) her commander, Verb. He grimaced.

“I’m telling you, sir, that braid could be used as a weapon.” He remarked, and Harrna realized that the large braid she tucked her hair into had smacked into him. Her breaths were shaky, and her eyes burned, but she offered a rather unconvincing smile.

“Apologies, Verb. I promise to try and keep it more under control.”

It was an attempt at humor, from both of them, but there was an uncomfortable feeling in the air. One of guilt and blame. 

She couldn’t blame him, but he could certainly blame her. Her smile fell, and his grimace turned into a neutral, unreadable expression.

“I’m so sorry,” she whispered “It’s all my fault.”

“Yeah,” he agreed, and his voice was like ice “It is.”

She turned away from him, placing her head back into her hands gently, swallowing down the feelings that threatened to overtake her. Verb removed the hand from her shoulder, but she didn’t hear him walk away, instead, he spoke again.

“But, I suppose it’s mine, too.” 

She lifted her head, glancing back at him. His face was still unreadable. His voice was still cold and hard.

“It’s also the Seppies’ fault. And the Republic’s. And the people’s. It’s everyone’s fault, sir. That’s just how war  _ is _ . If you’re going to lead, you’re going to have to learn to deal with it.”

“We shouldn’t  _ have  _ to,” Harrna said, unthinkingly “They shouldn’t have to  _ die  _ this way.  _ You _ —“

“According to the Republic and the Order,” He snapped, interrupting her “It’s our  _ job  _ to,  _ sir _ .”

“Screw the Republic,” Harrna snapped back, and she didn’t feel an ounce of regret “And screw the Order for agreeing with them. They  _ see  _ this, they  _ know  _ this is happening, they  _ know  _ this is wrong, but…”

“But they don’t care,” Verb finished, then added, softly “hard to believe you do.”

“Of  _ course _ I do,” she said, just as soft, and their eyes met “How could I not after meeting someone like you? Like all of  _ them _ ?”

There was a pause, and a look crossed through Verb’s eyes, his lips pursed. Then, he sighed, and his shoulders seemed to sag as he took a seat beside Harrna, placing his helmet on his lap. Harrna sat up slightly, and their eyes never left each other. 

“Harrna,” he began, very quiet, but determined “May I speak candidly?” 

“Of course,” came her automatic reply “You always can.”

“No, I can’t, that’s not how it works,” he said, and for a moment his eyes hardened, but quickly softened again “Harrna, I want to leave the army.”

Harrna blinked. It took her a moment to process what he said and keep herself from asking the obvious but annoying question of  _ why _ . She understood how annoying a simple word like that could be in a situation like this. It was meant to be his life, the only thing he knew about or cared for, something to devote his whole body, mind, and soul to, and he wanted to  _ leave  _ it. She knew the feeling, more than most knew.

_ The feeling of a bird in a cage _ .

“I just,” he continued, though he struggled with the words “I know you mean well, that the Republic means well, but I can’t live like this. I don’t want to be used to this, I don’t want to live just to die for someone else’s war. I love my  _ vode _ , and I would do almost anything for them, but I… I can’t…”

“You can’t help how you feel,” Harrna said, and she surprised herself with how…  _ wise  _ she sounded “You love them, but the path they walk isn’t the path you want to be on. It’s not a path you  _ can  _ be on.”

“How—“

“I’ve felt the same way since I was a padawan. I only stayed because  _ somebody _ has to care about you and your  _ vode  _ as more than commodities, more often than when it’s convenient.”

There was a silent understanding that passed between them as their eyes remained locked, dark gold meeting brown so dark it was almost black.

“So?” he asked, and his entire being seemed to vibrate in anticipation.

“MIA,” she said “You went on a perimeter check, and never came back. Assumed KIA.”

“Did you look for me?”

“Of course. You’re my commander and a good man. I’d be a fool not to.”

He smiled, and so did she, even as her heart squeezed in pain. She was losing him, too.

_ But he’d be alive. And happy.  _

“You’re dismissed, Commander.” She said, and they stood. She bowed, and he saluted her.

“Thank you, sir.” He replied, and he placed his helmet on his head, turning around to leave.

“May the Force be with you, Verb.” She said, and she could feel his joy in the Force.

“ _ Jate jate'kara _ , Harrna.”

~<>~

Harrna didn’t believe in luck. She was a Jedi, raised by their ways, and, according to the other Jedi, there is no such thing as luck.

That being said, she felt like she was  _ extremely  _ lucky.

She had been allowed to keep ( _ keep, as if he was an object _ ) Burner as one of her troopers, and, after a small session with the Council, she had been given command of her own battalion: the 473rd. She didn’t know how or why. She told them she worried she would not be able to handle such a responsibility, but they insisted, and when the Council insisted, well…

There wasn’t much she could do.

Before she would be given the men under her command, however, she and Burner had to be picked up. Several small dispatches of troopers had been sent out from the Republic forces stationed nearby, who had just won a neighboring planet from the Separatists, to search for the duo, as well as any troopers that were declared MIA. 

As they boarded the gunship, she hoped her luck would make its way to Verb.

~<>~

Harrna was going to be sick.

She watched the scene with a passive face, but behind her mental shielding, she was screaming. Screaming and crying out and wishing she could do something more, her emotions thrashing about inside her mind and stomach.

They  _ found _ them.

When the first team had declared that they found Tin, she had been ecstatic. She had  _ three  _ surviving members out of seven, even if one defected to live a life he chose (a life she wished  _ she  _ could have). But, when he was brought aboard, he was different. He was lashing out at everyone, clone and Jedi alike, and refusing to fly any ships, which, to say the least, was strange for a pilot.

Then, there were the nightmares.

She felt them when he had them, felt them cry out before he ever did, and she often found herself sneaking into the barracks that he slept in to soothe him, silent, but comforting. He was different, but he was  _ found _ , and that was good enough for Harrna, but not for the other Jedi.

“He’s a malfunctioning weapon,” he had sneered “He needs to be fixed.”

She ignored him.

But what she couldn’t ignore was the second trooper they found.

In the present, they brought Verb in wearing binders, bruises, and a bloody lip. He was half-conscious, but when Harrna rushed over to him, he was coherent enough to whisper, barely loud enough to register.

“Don’t take the blame,” he said, and his voice was grave “It won’t help.”

That was all he had time to say before they carted him off to the brig.

~<>~

The brig always had troopers guarding it. That was the most annoying thing. The other Jedi (who Harrna and Burner had come to call  _ shabuir _ , a word that Burner had described as “like jerk, but much,  _ much _ worse”) had refused to allow anyone but him to see Verb, and judging by the uncomfortable posture of the two guards, it wasn’t for any good reason.

Harrna had kept her mental shielding up, being acutely aware of how precariously she was walking the line between annoyance and anger, keeping herself in check only by thinking of what would happen to what was left of her troops if she Fell. 

One day, however, one of the guards looked to the other (they were shinies, she realized, and they were terrified), and the let her through with nothing more than a nod and a “don’t be long”. They were risking the other Jedi’s wrath, just for her, and her stomach sloshed with the guilt. 

“If he finds out,” she whispered, just before entering the cell “I will take the blame. Do  _ not _ try to defend me. Please.”

They nodded, though she could sense their uneasy, but also confusingly pleasant surprise. She offered them a small, reassuring smile, and entered the small cell. 

It was fairly bare, only having a bed and a small corner that was meant to act as an entire bathroom. She scrunched her nose up slightly at how confined the space was, releasing the intense feeling of unease brought on by the small space into the Force. Almost instantly, her dark eyes locked onto a pair of dark gold ones.

She didn’t even try to stop herself from rushing over and pulling her commander into a tight embrace, which, after a moment of surprise, he reciprocated. Her face barely hit the middle of his chest, so even though she meant it as a gesture of comfort to  _ him _ , he enveloped  _ her _ with much more ease. She was  _ very  _ glad there were no cameras in the cell, because if anyone got a hold of this, she’d be chewed out by both the Council  _ and  _ Senate alike for becoming so attached, but she couldn’t help it. That squad was part of her family, and she had so few of them left, she should be allowed this.

They pulled away after what seemed like an eternity, and she looked him over with what she could only describe as “frantic calm”, a hypocrisy that she had felt enough of in her lifetime that she knew it intimately. His injuries were healed up, but not perfectly. There was a small scar on his lip where it had been busted open, and the bruises from the pervious scuffle had all but disappeared, but new ones bloomed all over his face and neck, and she was sure that, if he took off his blacks, there would be many more.

“I’m so sorry, Verb,” she began, hushed and warbled as she kept her anger at bay “This is all—“

“It’s not,” he said, and his tone must’ve been harsher than he intended, because he winced and softened his tone before continuing “You did what you could, I don’t blame you, I blame  _ them _ .”

They knew each other well enough to know who he meant when he said  _ them _ . The Republic, the Order, the Separatists, just  _ them _ . She couldn’t agree more, and yet, there was still  _ guilt _ . He told her not to take any blame, that it wouldn’t help, but the alternative was—

What  _ was _ the alternative?

“Verb,” she began slowly, even as a pit grew in her stomach “What’s going to happen to you?”

“If I’m lucky, which apparently I’m not, I’ll be executed.”

“That’s  _ lucky _ ?”

“Yeah,” he muttered, and his eyes were stormy yet cold “it’s either that, or reconditioning.”

That word sent a shiver down Harrna’s spine, and she didn’t even know what it meant. The bad feeling wouldn’t leave her bones.

“What does that mean?” She asked, though she was afraid of the answer.

“It’s… You know how when droids aren’t working right, they’re sent back to be reprogrammed?”

“Yes,” she whispered, horror flooding her “Don’t tell me—“

“Harrna, please, you have to promise me something,” he said, cutting her off with a slight tone of desperation “Please.”

She nodded, no longer trusting her words. The lump in her throat was too big, and it took half her concentration to keep her mental shielding up. He held her by her shoulders, pressing softly, but enough to ground her back into the moment.

_ Breathe _ .

“Find him. Find 1890. He won’t be me, the Kaminoans will make sure of that, but he’ll need someone to remind him of what he  _ is _ , who he  _ could  _ be, and you’re the only Jedi, if not person, I trust to do that. Besides my  _ vode _ , of course, but they don’t have the ability to help me, not with this.”

“ _ Verb— _ “

“ _ Please _ , Harrna,” he said, gripping her shoulders tighter as a wild look grew in his eyes “I can’t go back to being a  _ number _ , I  _ can’t _ .”

Harrna stared at his face, at his tattoos.

_ It’s so I don’t forget who I am to the Republic _ .

_ It’s who I am to my  _ vode.

(It’s who he was to  _ her _ .)

“Of course,” she said, managing to properly work around the lump in her throat as she searched for calm “You’re my commander and a good man. I’d be a fool not to.”

~<>~

Harrna hated Kamino.

The storms made her older injuries flare up in pain, forcing her to use an old cane that the healers had given her when she left as she walked through the sterile, too-white and too-bright hallways. The scientists were cold, some even borderline cruel, and called the clones “it” and “products”. This included the one that was walking beside her as they spoke about what the scientist, who called herself Pae Sa, called “business”. Harrna was very glad she had not run into Shaak Ti.

“You must know, Master Jedi, this situation is  _ highly  _ unusual,” Pae Sa said, her voice calm but incredulous all at once “Normally, when a clone is sent for reconditioning, they are not returned to their previous post.”

“I understand that, ma’am,” Harrna said, her voice much calmer than she was “But one of them were sent in without my permission by another Jedi, which he had no right to do, and the other was a commander. I would very much like to get them back.”

Pae Sa nodded slightly, understanding, and Harrna was very glad she had time to plan what she said. She had to tread carefully, not alert the Kaminoans to her real reason for retrieving them. Tin’s reason was real enough, the Jedi that had picked Harrna up had sent him in behind her back, and that didn’t sit well with  _ anybody _ involved but him, so Tin was already prepared to be picked up. 

“You were lucky,” the scientists had said “We were only in phase one. The product won’t be damaged as bad as if it were in a later phase.”

She didn’t ask what phase one was. She didn’t want to know.

Verb was a different story. She made a promise, and when she made a promise, she intended to  _ keep  _ it. 

_ Find 1890. _

And she would. She did.

But Kaminoans were  _ very  _ annoying.

Pae Sa stopped, and sighed. Harrna tensed instinctively, her mind running through scenarios with lightning speed, as if she were in a battle for her life.

_ Not her life _ .

“I understand 1780’s situation, but 1890? He attempted to defect, to  _ run _ .” Pae Sa asked, and Harrna was ready.

“He’s a good soldier,” she said, biting back the word ‘man’ “And I am to understand that all training will be retained?”

“Yes.”

“And if you have done your job  _ correctly _ , he should not try to run again, correct?”

“Yes, Master Jedi.”

“Well,” Harrna said, a slight smile on her face “I believe you have your answer.”

Pae Sa observed Harrna, and sighed again.

“I will see what I can do.”

~<>~

Even through his armor, Harrna could see how shaken Tin was, see his almost imperceptible quakes as they stood in the hangar bay, his nervousness and barely contained panic palpable in the Force. She wanted nothing more than comfort him, tell him he was safe again, but she didn’t dare. Not with so many eyes on them. The comfort could come later, once they were back with her newly-formed fleet, away from the prying eyes of cadets and droids and Kaminoans.

But first, they had one more soldier to load up.

To say that Harrna was thankful that Pae Sa had been the one she had spoken to would be an understatement. Underneath the scientific lingo and seemingly distant view of the clones, there seemed to be a being that was able to care for them, or at least understand that others might (whether or not she understood  _ why _ was another matter, but it was not one Harrna was willing to get into at that moment). Pae Sa had managed to “work around the system”, as she said, and reassign 1890 to the 473rd Battle Battalion.

It was completely under the table, attachment-based, rash, dangerous, and something the Council would never approve of.

_ Good _ .

The rains had stopped, at least for the time being, so Harrna and Tin were relatively dry as they waited, and Harrna’s heart was thudding out her chest as she went over what Verb had told her before they had taken him. He wouldn’t be the same, that would be fine, people change all the time, that’s how life  _ is _ , she could handle change. He would need to be reminded he wasn’t just a number, okay, that was good, because Harrna could do that, she  _ already _ did that for the few clones she had come to meet from her new command position. 

She was pulled from her thoughts at the sight of Pae Sa approaching, accompanied by a single clone, who wore a pauldron painted the same red as her robes, and she had to suppress a smile. 

She could do this.

Harrna and Pae Sa greeted each other with respect, and Harrna glanced to Verb, who was simply standing there, back rigid at attention. Something was  _ wrong _ , she could  _ feel  _ it, but—

_ Breathe. _

She could do this.

“During process of reassignment, I had 1890’s designation be changed from a CC to CT. He’s a captain now, which should hopefully reduce suspicion for you.”

Harrna offered the scientist a smile, and it was returned.

“Thank you Pae Sa. I will not forget your generosity.”

“I should hope not.” She said, and it took Harrna a moment to register the amused smile on the scientist’s face. She gave a somewhat awkward laugh before clearing her throat.

“CT-1890,” she said, and the numbers tasted bitter on her tongue, but her tone stayed even “Please come with me so you can report to the 473rd for duty.”

“Yes sir.” He said, and it was almost automatic, like a machine, and Harrna felt a shudder go through her.  _ Something was wrong, what was wrong? _

She could do this.  _ She could do this _ .

His movements were robotic, practiced, almost to a perfectly imperfect degree, and the pit that had been in her stomach since he was found only grew deeper as they boarded the gunship, Tin still shaking silently. The second the doors closed, she slowly,  _ gently _ , placed a hand on Tin’s shoulder, offering him a smile.

“Take it easy, Tin,” she said, voice soft “You’re safe now, I promise.” 

There was a pause, and Tin slowly took off his helmet, his hands shaking badly enough now that Harrna didn’t have to strain to see it. His eyes were full of anxiety. Then, after a moment more, Tin flung his arms around Harrna, enveloping the short Jedi in a hug. She let out a grunt of surprise, but returned the hug, albeit much gentler. When they broke apart, Harrna was smiling, and Tin was crying, but the Force around him sung with  _ joy _ .

The Force around Verb was still silent. Eerily silent.

_ She could do this, she could do this, she could do this— _

“Well,” she said, throwing a smile his way despite the feeling that she didn’t want to identify crawling up her spine “Come on then, captain. Take off your helmet, too.”

“Is that an order, sir?” The man that was supposed to be Verb asked, too monotone to be a joke. The feeling from her spine filled her, icy cold and all-encompassing, but she continued forward. She could feel Tin’s worry from behind her, which, really, wasn’t helping, but she pushed it all away long enough for her to speak again.

“Yes,” her voice was a hoarse whisper “It is.”

With mechanical precision, the clone that was obviously not Verb anymore took off his helmet, and Harrna almost gasped in horror. 

Dark gold, once filled with humor and anger and happiness and grief and  _ family _ and  _ loyalty _ were now filled with…  _ nothing _ . They were  _ hollow _ and  _ unknowing _ . She searched his mind with way too much ease for something, some  _ small  _ trace of personality, of  _ something _ , but there was  _ nothing _ . Nothing but training and orders and  _ follow orders _ —

She placed a hand over her mouth, tearing her eyes away from the man she had once called Verb, short for  _ verburyc _ , which meant loyal, which he still had tattooed, they shaved his head but they never removed the damned tattoos—

_ Breathe _ .

She did, and turned away to meet Tin’s panicked gaze with her own grieving one. They rode in silence for the rest of the way back to the fleet.

~<>~

“You’re more than what they made you, you know.”

Her voice was way too soft, she knew that much through her liquor-induced haze. Harrna didn’t drink, not after the Padawan Party Incident, for which she had been given Temple Cleaning duty for a week, but after the recent events, all of them happening so  _ fast _ , she felt like she could’ve been afforded the infraction.

She had been aimlessly strolling, going wherever her feet took her, and it found her in front of her new captain’s door. He was looking over reports, reading them with hollow eyes that only scanned for rules and logic and nothing else. After she spoke, however, he looked up at her, and she had hoped that, just for a second, recognition would flood his eyes and the Force around him would  _ sing _ , but no such miracle occurred. He simply looked at her with blank eyes.

“Sir?” He asked, and even the confused question reminded her of a droid. 

“You’re… you’re more than just a number, than just a soldier,” she was slurring as she walked forward, tripping over her own feet “You’re a man, a  _ good _ man who just wanted to be allowed to  _ choose _ and it’s— It’s not—”

She would’ve hit the floor were it not for 1890 moving forward to catch her.

“General,” he said, and she could tell it was going to be an observation and recommendation, because it was  _ that  _ tone “You’re inebriated, I suggest you sit and rest until it passes.”

She allowed him to guide her to where he had just been sitting, and for a moment, she wondered if he had done it out of compassion, but she knew that wasn’t right. They had wiped that from him, too. 

“It’s my fault,” she whispered “I shouldn’t have let you go on that planet, should’ve helped you escape on Coruscant, where you could’ve blended in, gotten  _ help _ . Oh  _ Force _ , I’m so sorry, Verb.”

She felt a pause in the air, as if he were processing what she said, trying to find the correct dialogue tree that would help the situation, but it seemed as if nothing came up, because all he said was,

“I don’t understand.”

“Of course you don’t,” Harrna snapped, and she knew she would kick herself later for it “Of course you don’t, because you’re not Verb. Not anymore. They took a good man and turned him into a husk, into  _ you _ , and they didn’t even bother to remove the damn tattoos.”

There was more silence, with 1890 just staring at her with the eyes full of nothing, and when she couldn’t bear it anymore, she buried her head into her hands, a ragged sob escaping her throat. She wanted to scream, she wanted to cry, she wanted to leave the Republic and Separatists and the  _ stupid  _ war behind, leave the whole Force-forsaken  _ galaxy _ behind, but she couldn’t. She wouldn’t leave anyone behind, not  _ again _ .

She was so busy sobbing and trying to contain herself that she hadn’t even noticed that 1890 had moved towards her until he carefully wrapped his arms around her. She stiffened, but then melted into the awkward but rewarding embrace of the captain that was once her commander, sobbing into his blacks.

Through the fog of alcohol and grief, she could barely feel the way his hands curled into fists on her back. She could barely hear him talk as her exhaustion whisked her into dreamless sleep.

_ “I’m sorry for your loss.” _

~<>~

Harrna was still banned from playing sabacc.

Tin and Burner enforced that rule more than any rule they ever learned on Kamino, but Harrna still found herself content to watch. With new blood in the newly formed, temporarily unnamed company, she was very interested to see how good the troops were at cheating with cards.

One of the pilots, called Hotshot, didn’t cheat, but he played the game like he flew a ship: recklessly, but with the intent for high-risk, high-reward. The other pilot, Lucky, was  _ also  _ banned from sabacc, due to his abnormally high win rate. Two troops that Burner had taken under his wing, Venom and Sting, were getting the hand of sneaking their cards into their sleeves and armor, but Harrna could still see the edge of some of the cards, and had to stifle a laugh whenever someone accused them of cheating. 

The three that had just been transferred over, Doubles, Curio, and Stutter, all cheated as well, but the only one who even got close to being as good as Verb had once been was Doubles. He was smooth, unassuming, and had one of the best sabacc faces she’d ever seen. 

And, of course, 1890 was there, too.

He didn’t play, but simply watched with Harrna, the two of them silently messaging each other observations and predictions, exchanging glances when something happened or a card was dropped to exchange one that Stutter had taped to the bottom of his shoe. By the time the game ended, there was no clear winner, but Doubles was certainly pleased with himself, and Harrna could tell 1890 was, too, even if he didn’t know why. 

Harrna and 1890 were the last ones to leave, as always, and Harrna decided that that moment was the perfect one to speak to her captain alone.

“Hey, 1890. I think I found a good name to call you, if I may be so bold.”

He looked over at her, his slowly-but-surely less hollow eyes sparking with suspicion. There had been several names tossed at him by the  _ vode _ , but the whole of the 473rd had more or less agreed that he could not, and should not, be called Verb any longer. That was the name of a fallen soldier, and it was bad luck to carry that kind of name.

“What name would that be, sir?”

Harrna smiled, and it was a tired thing, but it still felt so warm, so good to speak like this, neither of them seemed to care. 

“Blank,” she said, half-humorous, half-tentative “Seems rather fitting to me.”

“Permission to speak freely, sir?”

“Granted. As always.”

“It kriffing sucks.”

Harrna let out a small snort of laughter at the blunt remark, and the tired smile gained a sort of mischievous quality to it.

“Is that any way to talk to your superior, captain?”

In an instant, she knew it was the wrong thing to say, because 1890’s eyes flickered slightly, and all hilarity in the air vanished. Harrna mentally slapped herself, of  _ course _ it was the wrong thing to say. It was inferring he had done something wrong, and sarcasm was still something they were working on getting back. 

“Kriff, 1890, I’m sorry,” she began quickly “I didn’t intend, I mean, I didn’t mean that. It was an okay thing to say, it was funny, I didn’t—“

“It’s alright, sir.” He said, but his tone was dry.

“It doesn’t sound alright.” She retorted, walking towards him slowly, and, as she got up close enough, reached a hand up to trace her thumb over the tattoo in mando’a.  _ Loyal _ .

“It doesn’t feel alright,” he admitted, slowly pulling away from her hand “But I have to say it is.”

“You don’t.” She said, but she knew it wasn’t true. Not anymore. She sighed, and as she turned to leave, he spoke up.

“Whiteout,” he said “Burner gave me the name. Captain Whiteout. It has a certain ring to it, doesn’t it?”

She turned around, and she smiled. He smiled back.

(And from somewhere deep inside Whiteout, he was told the feeling he felt bloom in his chest was called  _ home _ .)

**Author's Note:**

> I made myself sad writing this, I hope y'all enjoyed it! 
> 
> kudos and comments appreciated!
> 
> star wars tumblr is clonesdeservebetter.tumblr.com
> 
> translations: 
> 
> jate jate'kara: good luck


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